Jen Reye
by Vitresence
Summary: A modern retelling of the classic tale. Jen Reye is a young woman with a tumultuous past, who finds shelter at Thornfield Ranch and turbulent love with its mysterious owner.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Well here it is again, or at least the first half of what I already had. I sincerely apologize to those of you who followed my stories in the beginning, and then I dropped off the face of the planet. But when I was transferring my files to my new computer I found these and began editing and tweaking, just in little bits, and have brought them back! I plan of finishing this one up, and then resurrecting the others. Hope you enjoy, and happy reading :)**

It was a dreary day to be arriving somewhere new, I remember thinking. Outside the car window, green fields on rolling hills were slowly being saturated by the rain that seemed to be following me, and various kinds of livestock were huddling together. In the distance I could see the mountains, though I didn't know which range they belonged to. Abruptly, Tim, the kind man who picked me up at the airport and was now driving the truck, turned off the pavement onto a wide dirt road, and a little bit later we passed under a sign that read "Thornfield Ranch". Sighing, I leaned up against the window, and looked out to the distance, wondering what would happen if I just disappeared into the fields.

"If you look over there," said Tim, pointing just to the left of his shoulder, "you'll see the house in a minute." He smiled at me, and I attempted to smile back, hoping he would know I really did appreciate the kindness. To appease him, I looked over, and when the car crested the hill we were on, I couldn't help but gasp slightly at the view. The house was an old, southern plantation-style house, painted a light green with white trim. Windows covered the entire upper floor and most of the bottom floor, which was framed by a pillar framed wrap-around porch. The lawn out front was neatly cut, with flowerbeds up against the porch and surrounding the bases of two tall oaks which framed the sides of the house. Maybe a hundred yards away from the house was a large barn, with a spacious paddock containing some horses adjacent to it.

"It's beautiful," I said quietly.

"This isn't even an eighth of the land, either," he responded. "Over those hills there belongs to Mr. Rowe as well, all the way to those blue mountains in the distance." Again, to appease him I looked to all the places he indicated, and really was astonished with the view. The misty rain made it hard to see the mountains he was talking about, but by the darkish shapes in the distance I figured I was looking in the right direction.

After we had parked, I heaved my luggage out from the covered bed of the truck, and turned around to see an older woman in a simple brown dress and apron walking towards me.

"Oh Jen! Why, you look stunning," she said, giving me a hug and patting my hair. "Just like your mother." When she said this I smiled a little, but I knew my eyes weren't holding back my real emotions.

"Thank you, Mrs. Fairly," I replied. Mrs. Fairly was my mother's cousin's stepmother, and although I had only met her two or three times, she offered me a place to live and job until the next school year. After her stepchildren had grown and her husband had died, she took up the housekeeping and cooking of Thornfield, and, according to Tim, the ranch wouldn't run without her.

"Come on in, then," she said, taking the handle of one of my suitcases. "I've made up some lunch for you, since I knew you probably didn't eat well on the plane." There was something about her kind, motherly attitude that made me accept, even though I wasn't hungry, and hadn't been for a while now.


	2. Chapter 2

Half an hour later, Mrs. Fairly brought me to my room and tactfully left me to unpack and get used to it.

"Your room isn't on the same floor as the other live-in hands," she had explained on the way down the hallway. "Generally the hands live on the second floor, and a few have some converted rooms in the attic, but all the rooms are full, so you get one on the first floor. Only Mr. Rowe and I have rooms down here, but Mr. Rowe isn't here very often, so it's pretty quiet for the most part."

"Thank you, very much," I replied, rolling my suitcases down the wood-floored hallway. The wall was painted a very light yellow, and a white-framed window let in sunlight at the end of the hall, facing one side of the property, but other than the paint and wood, there was no decoration in the hallway.

"Here you are, dear," said Mrs. Fairly a few steps later. She opened a door and stepped aside, allowing me to pass. "I'll let you get unpacked," she said, and stepped out and shut the door. The room was very, very nice, if a little bit plain. The double bed was covered in a white and purple striped duvet with a white wood headboard. The dresser, nightstand, and bookcase were all also white, as was the frame around the mirror. The walls were painted a lighter shade of lilac than the duvet, but it matched well. The thing I noticed and became instantly drawn to was the window, underneath which there was a cushioned window seat. I left my suitcases in the middle of the plush carpet and went over to kneel one knee on the seat. I drew apart the white curtains and pushed down one of the blinds to see a breathtaking view of the valley behind the house. The house was situated at the edge of a very shallow cliff, facing the fields in front of it. My window faced the back, towards rolling pastures and grazing fields and the distant mountains, and apparently it also faced the west, because as I watched, the sun just touched the peaks of the mountains, and continued to descend in a flash of brilliant colors.

Sighing, I left the window and went to unpack the two suitcases of clothes and other possessions I had managed to pack in the hasty departure from my home. Earlier Mrs. Fairly had told me of the entire staff's nightly gathering, typically on the porch or out in the lawn somewhere, and that I was more than welcome to join them. She said would be at 8:30 and I could go to the porch as well. Opting to make a good impression over the comfortable solitude of my room, I went out to the kitchen to find Mrs. Fairly humming as she pan-fried some chicken.

"Oh hello, dear," she said. "I just finished making up the last of the food. We serve the staff in a buffet style. Just a tip: get here early, I can already hear the men coming up the drive." Surely enough, sounds of laughter and random conversation filled the air. I took the pile of plates from Mrs. Fairly and placed them at the start of the counter, then picked the top one off the stack and began to pick out bits of food. By the time I got to the chicken, a slew of men had entered the kitchen and noisily picked up plates and joked with each other. I looked up from behind a curtain of my hair, content to so far not be noticed. I decided that I would wait to meet them till tomorrow, when I could rally my social skills together. It was when I tried to slip away down the hallway that being inconspicuous failed me.

"Ah the new girl," came a deep voice from behind me. I stopped, squinted my eyes for a second at being caught, and turned around, smiling.

"Hi," I said quietly.

"Trying to escape our grand party?" asked the same man. He was rather tall with blondish brown hair and green eyes.

"Yeah," I replied. "I felt rather awkward at interrupting such a close-knit party without knowing anybody."

"Well I'm John." He came over and reached out a hand. I shook it, precariously balancing my plate and the can of soda I had picked up in my left hand, glad to see open warmth in his eyes. "There, now you officially know someone. We're all going out onto the porch for dinner, why don't you come with us?"

"Alright," I said, and followed him with my head bent. Social skills had not come back to me since last year, which was part of the reason why I chose a university so far away from home, and why I chose to skip a year and work at the ranch. At school I had been so miserable, talking was a chore and none of my friends understood, so I spent senior year of high school as the biggest kind of social reject and it was not pleasant.

Outside, the group of maybe fifteen or so sat out around the porch in various spots. John told me to sit by him, and quietly I did, sitting cross-legged on the floor next to him. I was introduced around to all the hands and a few of their wives, but the only names I remembered were John and Tim, the man who picked me up from the airport. When the food was finished, one of the wives-who later reminded me her name was Linda-and I picked up the plates and silverware and brought them into the kitchen with Mrs. Fairly.

It wasn't until around twelve thirty that I finally got to bed. The night was spent talking, laughing and mediocre singing accompanied by one man's guitar, but surprisingly I felt very at home with them. The sense of belonging was comforting, and I was glad to be a part of their party; they accepted me without hesitation, something I hadn't experienced in a few years.

For the next three weeks I learned and got accustomed to my tasks, for the most part riding on Sprite, a dappled mare who was the sweetest horse I'd ever met, and going to the fences on the perimeters of the close land to sketch and take note of where there was a break that needed mending. I spent every night outside on the porch or in a field with a bonfire with the rest of the hands, and for awhile began to genuinely feel at home.


	3. Chapter 3

One morning, five weeks after my arrival, I came out to the kitchen, dressed for the day and planning to only grab a small bite to eat before I took Sprite out into the northern woods to check and make emergency repairs on the fences bordering Thornfield Ranch from its neighbor, Morning Heights Ranch. Al and Jack, two of the other workers here, along with John, spent a week teaching me what to do, and how and when to repair the fences. I had told Mrs. Fairly I wouldn't mind working way out in the woods, as long as it was possible for me to do it alone. John made it his job to bring me lunch if I didn't come in for it, scoffing at my solidarity and taking time to eat and joke with me, but other than that I was left alone to do my work and enjoyed every minute of it.

When I came into the kitchen, Mrs. Fairly was on the phone, nodding and "mm-hmm"ing at regular intervals. I picked a biscuit and some sausage off their plates, and was attempting to get outside when she said goodbye and hung up.

"Just a minute, Jen," she said. I turned to see her rummaging through the refrigerator, and, while taking bites out of my sausage and biscuit sandwich, watched her pull out a few plates of leftovers and a whole cherry pie. "I'm sorry it's such short notice, but could you go over for breakfast and lunch to Morning Heights? The old grandfather died last night, and I told Judy you could help out with some cooking and cleaning."

"Oh gosh," I replied. "How awful. But of course, Mrs. Fairly. I'll stay till lunch and then work on the fences. I'll be back after dinner."

"Thank you, dear. You'll really help Judy," she replied.

It took longer to get to Morning Heights at a trot since I couldn't ride any faster while balancing the food Mrs. Fairly sent with me, but I arrived only about twenty minutes later. I had met Mrs. Johnston once before when she, her husband, and her two children came down to the ranch for dinner, and she was a very sweet person. But I could tell the death of her father hit her hard, so I stayed a little longer than planned, having lunch with them and cleaning the kitchen when we were done. I promised I'd come back for dinner, and did so after fixing up some fences with shepherd's pie and a strudel. Again I stayed later that I anticipated cleaning and caring for the youngest.

It wasn't until late that I finally left Morning Heights, and since I had insisted on walking over for dinner I began the not too long, but long enough walk home, choosing to ignore John's offer of picking me up. I was about halfway down the rode, walking absent-mindedly in the middle of it and staring at the blanket of stars in the remote country sky, when I heard the thundering of hooves behind me. I nimbly jumped out of the way as the horse and rider turned the corner I had just turned, but although I avoided being hit, the horse was spooked by my sudden movement and reared up. In a flurry of colorful language, the man riding the cream colored horse fell off the back, landing hard with more colorful language.

"God dammit," he said, rolling off his hands and knees.

"I'm so sorry, are you hurt?" I asked, jogging to his side and helping him up by the elbow.

"Yes, I'm fine," he said curtly. "Just my wrist is all. Who the devil are you and why are you out at such a miserable hour?"

"My name is Jen," I replied with equal curtness. "I'm employed at Thornfield Ranch for now, and I was at the neighbors', cooking and cleaning up dinner for the family."

"Ah, I see. I heard about Old Mr. Johnston. I half expected you to be a ghost or demon of some sort."

"Can you ride? Thornfield in only a little ways down the road, I'm sure the housekeeper can help you."

"No, I'm fine," he replied gruffly. "If you could just grab my forearm so I can mount. Yes, like that." I grabbed his arm as he instructed and pulled a little to help him onto his horse. "Thank you," he said, and then kicked his horse into a canter and left, holding the reins with one hand.

"No problem," I said under my breath as he rode away, a little miffed about his bluntness

Upon my arrival back to the ranch, I was confused to find no one in the usual gathering places, like out on the lawn or the porch. When I entered the main house I was further confused to hear voices coming from the green living room, one of the more formal rooms I had yet to see many people in.

Tentatively I rounded the corner to the room, unsure of whether I was interrupting something important. Most of the usual hands and employees were there, including Mrs. Fairly, who was usually absent from our evening talks.

"Mrs. Fairly? I just wanted to let you know I'm back. I'm going to head to bed early tonight."

"Oh, Jen! First you must stay and meet Mr. Rowe, he just arrived a few minutes ago. Only he had a fall and hurt his hand." It was then that I noticed the large armchair was occupied. Usually the hands avoided it. In it sat none other than the man I had met on the road.

"Good evening," he said, his dark eyes staring into mine.

"Hello again," I replied.

"You've met?" asked Mrs. Fairly with a somewhat shocked tone.

"Yes, briefly. Jen here was the person I passed on the road who spooked Marzipan. I won't keep you, however. Go to bed. I will see you tomorrow evening."

"Um, okay then. Goodnight, everybody." I turned and left the room, hearing Mrs. Fairly erupt in a series of questions as soon as I had left.


	4. Chapter 4

The next day proceeded as it normally would, so much so that I almost forgot Mr. Rowe was present on the ranch. The hands acted as normally as they did on any other day, and even Mrs. Fairly didn't mention him in the morning. It wasn't until lunch until I saw him, he was leaving the house as I went in to make myself a quick sandwich.

"Good afternoon, Miss Reye," he said.

"Hello, Mr. Rowe, how are you?"

"Quite well, thank you. You do remember I would like you to join me in the dining room tonight?" Last night I had failed to notice how pleasant his voice was. Although deep, it had a musical quality to it, I couldn't help thinking how much I enjoyed his speech.

"Yes, of course," I said when I realized he was waiting for a response. His question was posed more as a statement to me.

"Good. I will see you then." Without another word he walked away, towards the barn. I was beginning to understand that he often disappeared as quickly as he appeared, and was wondering how he must act when he was in one place for a long time. Nighttime came quickly. Dinner was an unusually formal affair; Mrs. Fairly set the dining room table and she, Mr. Rowe, a few of the more senior workers and I ate there while everyone else did the usual routine and ate outside. I longed for the easy conversation and frequent laughs as we ate in occasionally-broken silence. To top it off, Mrs. Fairly instructed me to dress nicely, which was unusual feeling after weeks in jeans. I was wearing a white cotton skirt and an Oxford shirt, while most of the other women were in dresses and the men looked uncomfortable in slacks and polos. I figured after dinner we would be able to relax a bit, and looked forward to it when we began to finish our food.

I was sadly disappointed when Mrs. Fairly asked my help to clear the table, then insisted I join the same group of people in the same room as last night. There were a few low conversations when we entered, and awkwardly I found a seat in a corner and watched others for a little while. I had never wished that someone like John, who's easy conversation had more frequently than not made me uncomfortable, was there to break up the formality.

I was completely absorbed in thought when a voice rang over the others. I was startled when it registered the voice was addressed to me.

"Jen," said Mr. Rowe. "Come and sit here, I would like to talk." Silently I stood up and walked over to the armchair he was sitting in and sat down on a footstool, crossing my ankles like the classical ballerina I used to be. It didn't escape his notice. "You move and sit with unusual grace. Were you a dancer?"

"Yes, sir," I replied, looking at my hands in my lap. "I used to dance before I... moved here."

"I see," he said. "What styles?"

"Ballet, pointe, jazz and modern."

"How long?"

"My mom put me into ballet when I was turning four."

"So you were good." It wasn't a question, more of an assumption. I felt a blush, I didn't like thinking about the heartbreak that was leaving the studio.

"Yes, I was good. Good enough to be cast as the Sugarplum in The Nutcracker."

"But you stopped?"

"Yes, when I moved here."

"You don't want to keep dancing?"

"No, I don't." I was beginning to feel like a contestant on a game show where the goal was to answer as many questions about a painful topic in as little time possible.

"I see. How old are you?" The change of subject was a great relief.

"I will be nineteen in two months."

"So young. You came here as a distant relative of Mrs. Fairly?"

"Yes, she kindly offered me a position and home here."

"And why are you here?"

"I'd rather not talk about it." The conversation was turning from a bad conversation to a worse one, one full of nightmarish memories and a lot of tears.

"Well then, why not college?"

"I needed to escape. I thought the country would be the perfect place to do that, at least for a year. I was able to talk to an admissions advisor at Brown University, and he said that if I sat for a standardized test after my break, and my scores were still acceptable, I could enroll in a year or a year and a half."

"I see, and so your schoolwork was good enough to be accepted to Brown?"

"Well, yes. I graduated fourth in my class."

"And you're from?"

"South Florida."

"Ah, yes. Mrs. Fairly mentioned that." We lapsed into momentary silence, which was how I noticed everyone in the room had gone silent and was listening to our conversation. Mr. Rowe turned his attention to Mrs. Fairly, who was sitting on the couch behind me and had been knitting during our conversation.

"Mrs. Fairly, I forgot to inform you that I've invited the Gramins for two weeks from now. If you could prepare the guest bedrooms, I believe the four on the third floor will be sufficient."

"Of course, sir. You expect them when?"

"Next Friday," he said; twelve days from then. Shortly after someone announced they were going to bed, and Mr. Rowe suggested we all follow. I was surprised when I realized it was past eleven already. I went into my room and got ready for bed, but curiosity consumed me and I left to find Mrs. Fairly, dressed in my usual pajamas-sweatpants and a tank top. I found her in the kitchen cleaning the dishes and counter tops.

"Mrs. Fairly?" I asked.

"Oh, Jen! I thought you had gone to bed."

"I did, but I'm curious about something. Let me help you with that." I picked up a sponge and began wiping down the granite counters. "Who are the Gramins? In the weeks I've been here no one has visited."

"Oh, the Gramins only visit when Mr. Rowe is in town. Usually it's the mother and father, a daughter and her family, a son and his family, and two other daughters. The second-oldest daughter is Brittany, and she's had her eye on Mr. Rowe for years." Lowering her voice, she corrected; "Or should I say, she's had her eye on his money for years. They are rich land-owners about twenty miles away, and have known the Rowes since before Mr. Rowe became the current owner. Brittany was originally intended for Mr. Rowe's older brother, James, but he and the father died in a car accident about five years ago."

"So now Brittany is out for Mr. Rowe?"

"Oh yes, and I can't help but feel it will be only a little while before the marriage is arranged. She's incredibly beautiful, naturally."

"Naturally," I replied, crestfallen although I was unsure why. "Well, I'll go to bed now, long day ahead of us I suppose."

"Goodnight, darling," she called, returning to the dishes.


	5. Chapter 5

Time passed swiftly on the ranch. Because fall was approaching we were busy by day preparing to bring in the cattle on the mountains, as well as selling last year's foals. Every night passed as the first evening I had spent with Mr. Rowe, with the exception of my conversations with the man himself. Most days he would call my name and I'd sit on the footstool and we would talk about something much more harmless. Some nights he didn't speak at all but to call me over to sit by him. On those nights I would turn to Mrs. Fairly and talk with her instead.

I realized that every evening I initially chose a spot on the opposite side of the room from the footstool I had come to claim as mine for a reason, really a very simple reason as well-just to hear him call my name each night. Every evening, approximately ten minutes once Mrs. Fairly and I returned to the sitting room after clearing and setting the dishes to soak, my name would be called and I would silently stand up from wherever I had chosen to sit and would walk over to his armchair.

I took these evening to examine his physical aspects, as well as his personality very closely. Physically, his tall and lean-neither too fat nor too skinny-frame was noted, as well as his dark, slightly unruly brown hair and dark, dark eyes. He was built for ranching, and I could easily tell that he had come from a long line of ancestors in the department. His personality was an entirely different matter, a matter that I doggedly set out to figure out. Some evenings he was the definition of an easy-going, talkative gentleman who was both charming and attentive. Other nights he was dark, brooding. Those were the evenings that I noticed a steely glint in his eye, and those were the nights he did not talk to me but to call me to sit near him.

Eleven days passed without my realizing it. On the Thursday morning before the arrival of these infamous Gramins, Mrs. Fairly asked me to stay indoors and help her prepare the house. Since I was her responsibility I said I'd be happy to and we got to work. The rooms on the third floor were all very formal, well-decorated guest bedrooms. Most had four-poster beds and lavish furniture, there was plush carpet on the floors and each room had an adjoining bathroom. The rooms on the first and second floor were comfortable, but not to this degree.

We spent the day making beds with sheets that smelled of lavender, dusting the furniture, vacuuming the carpets and scrubbing the bathrooms. At eleven I helped Mrs. Fairly get ready dozens of sandwiches for the workers that came to the main house for lunch, and once everyone was fed got to work cleaning the downstairs until it shined. After dinner I claimed exhaustion and got to go to bed as soon as we finished eating. I took a long shower, and then happily curled under my covers with a book. I kept reading until I heard the sounds of Mr. Rowe, whose room was at the end of the hall, two doors from mine, and Mrs. Fairly two doors down the other way, getting ready to go to bed. Sighing, I committed each sound he made, knowing that for the next few weeks I would have to learn how to stop liking someone.

I switched off my bedside lamp and curled further under my covers and closed my eyes, but sleep would not come. I tossed and turned for what felt like no time, but when I next looked at my clock two hours had passed and it was one in the morning. I had finally made it to that blissful, unaware state just before you slip into sleep when a creak outside my door sent adrenaline rushing to my legs and caused me to jerk wide awake. Light footsteps crossed my door and continued down the hall.

"Mr. Rowe doesn't walk like that," I thought. "And Mrs. Fairly would rather bite her toe off than lose sleep creeping around our hallway." The footsteps faded, and then stopped. I counted ten heartbeats, and then the footsteps returned to the hall and passed in front of my door again. Just as they were fading, a haunting giggle reached my ears, and panicking, I jumped up and ran to my door. I opened it to realize my vision had suddenly gotten very blurry. Then the smell hit me. I looked up to see thin tendrils of smoke hovering at the ceiling, coming from Mr. Rowe's room. I sprinted down the hall and threw open to door.

Fire was consuming the bed skirt on Mr. Rowe's king bed and the heavy curtains hanging in the windows on the opposite side of the bed, but he was still sleeping on top of it all.

"Mr. Rowe!" I whisper/screamed, wanting to wake him but not the whole house. There was no response. Thinking the carbon monoxide had already gotten to him I panicked again and ran into the bathroom. Impatiently I pushed things aside until I found a bucket under the sink and filled it using the shower head. I flung half on the flaming bed skirt, the other half on Mr. Rowe. He jerked awake, saw me, then saw the fire. He leapt off the bed and took my bucket from my hands and ran to the bathroom. I followed him and picked up the smaller bucket I had discarded, and filled it after he filled his. Doing this we had the fire out in less than five minutes, Mr. Rowe putting on shoes and stamping out some rogue embers.

When the room darkened from the last faint ember I put my bucket on the floor and sat heavily onto an armchair in the corner. He turned to me, an almost panicked look in his eyes.

"Jen, tell me exactly what happened," he said fiercely.

"I—um…" The urgency in his voice threw me off, and I couldn't think straight as he leant down and placed his arms on either of the chair's arms, trapping me.

"Tell me," he said, more calmly.

"I, I couldn't sleep. I think I had just fallen asleep when a footstep woke me up. I thought I was dreaming, but I definitely heard footsteps pass my door, and then pass it again going to opposite way. Then there was this laugh… I don't know any other way to explain it but maniacal. Whoever laughed like that cannot be in their right mind." Goosebumps covered my arms as I thought of that horrible sound. Mr. Rowe must have seen them in the half-moonlight, because he walked over to his bed and picked the blanket off of it. He handed it to me.

"Here, keep yourself warm, it's very cool tonight. Stay here, do not move. I'll only be a minute." He turned and left the room, leaving me sitting alone. I had just started to drowse when the door clicked open and Mr. Rowe slipped back in the room. "Go to sleep, Jen," he said, helping me stand by my elbow. "Do not speak of this to anyone at all tomorrow, especially Mrs. Fairly. Not a soul, all right?" I nodded my consent and unwrapped the blanket from my shoulders.

"Goodnight, Mr. Rowe," I said. I could hear my whisper trembling a little, now that the adrenaline had left my system and putting the fire out wasn't occupying my thoughts.

"Are you all right, Jen?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm fine." I reached for the handle of the door, and had just touched it when he said;

"So you are leaving?" I turned around and looked at him, confused, to find him staring at me in a way no one had ever looked at me. A mix of sorrow, hope, and longing flashed in his eyes as I watched him.

"You just told me to, and I am tired and cold."

"Yes, of course you are." His eyes held mine for a moment, which seemed to stretch. At last he looked away and said, "Goodnight." I slipped out of the door and crept down the hall to my room. I was asleep before my head reached the pillow, but slept badly, dreaming of fire.


	6. Chapter 6

I woke the next morning buried in my comforter. I stretched for a moment, content in my warm spot. I folded back the covers and looked out the window, which I had started leaving open to be able to see my beautiful view. The sun was shining, and judging by the shadows on the ground, was already quite high. With a start, the fact that the sun was already high surprised me into a sitting position. I turned my gaze to the alarm on my nightstand, and was further surprised seeing that I had slept in until almost ten. Panicking, I jumped out of bed and got ready as quickly as possible, which included brushing my teeth and hair, washing my face, and getting dressed. I was pulling my shirt over my head as I walked out of my room, and found Mrs. Fairly in the kitchen.

"I'm so sorry I slept in!" I said when she saw me. "Why didn't you wake me?"

"Oh, Mr. Rowe told me to let you rest. I had been telling him how hard you've been working and he personally turned off your alarm this morning and instructed me to let you sleep," she responded without pausing from her cooking. "Today we have a busy day too, dear, so I'm sure the extra sleep will help you. I'll need you in the house most of the day though, so it shouldn't be too tiring."

"Oh," I said, slightly more calm. "I thought I slept in and would be in trouble."

"No, of course not, dear," she said, smiling warmly at me.

"Okay. Well, what would you like me to do then?"

"Mr. Rowe said when you woke he'd like to see you in the stables," she replied, returning to peeling her potatoes.

"All right. Thanks, Mrs. Fairly." I turned and left the house, walking to the barn as the events from last night finally returned to my memory in full. I shuddered thinking of that awful laugh just as I entered the barn. Mr. Rowe was not in the main corridor, but I found him with Marzipan moments later.

"Mr. Rowe?" I said quietly. He turned and smiled when he saw me.

"Hello, Jen. How are you this morning?"

"Well rested, thanks to the extra sleep you gave me. Thank you."

"The least I could do for someone who saved my life last night." I blushed and looked down, but as I did I noticed angry burns just showing from the hem of his shirt's sleeve.

"You were burned!" I exclaimed.

"Oh it's nothing," he replied, attempting to cover the edges with his sleeve. I stepped forward and caught his hand, unbuttoned the wrist, and gently rolled up the sleeve. There were several shallow burns, nothing too serious, but concerning all the same.

"That's definitely something, Mr. Rowe," I said, looking up at him, holding his hand in both of mine. For a minute I thought he would be angry with me, I had seen his temper released on a few workers who did their jobs poorly, but after a moment he gave up and nodded. "There are first aid kits in the tack room," I said. "I've seen burn ointment in them, come." I did not release his hand as I pulled him to the tack room, knowing he wouldn't follow me. I pulled out the little white tube and gently dabbed some on the burns, gripping his hand when he tried to pull it away and half smiling when he groaned in protest. "There," I said, recapping the tube and releasing his hand. "So Mrs. Fairly said you wanted to see me?"

"Oh, yes," he said. "I have a new job for you. That is, if you'll take it."

"You employ me, Mr. Rowe," I replied, smiling. "Of course I'll take it."

"Today, with the Gramins, a little girl by the name of Annie is coming. I was asked to take her in after her mother left her. The Gramins were kind enough to pick her up from the train station on their way here. She needs a tutor, I assume she has not had very much formal schooling, and if she has it has not been very good formal schooling. I took the liberty to request your transcripts from your high school last week and I looked over them and figured you'd be the best person to ask to teach her and watch her."

"I'd love to," I replied. "I've been told I work well with children. How old is she?"

"Annie is eight, and if she is anything like her mother she could be quite the free spirit."

"You knew her mother then?" He grimaced and nodded.

"Yes, I knew her. Did you know I had an older brother?"

"Yes, Mrs. Fairly mentioned him and your father once," I said, slightly confused.

"He died five years ago, but a year before that he had a very messy affair with a girl in town. He got her pregnant, and our father paid her heavily to go away when the child was born. The money should have been enough to pay for the child for quite some time, but less than ten months later she came back looking for more. When both my father and brother refused, she made good on her threat to make it public and announced the scandal to anyone who cared. Personally, I attribute her actions to his early death, I'm sure my father and he were arguing in the car, and I don't believe it was entirely an accident. But all is done now, the mother left Annie with no one, and a child services agent came to talk to me a few weeks ago about her. Are you sure you wouldn't mind taking her education?"

"Of course not," I said. "I was planning on going to school for early childhood education anyways."

"That's another thing I meant to ask you," he said after a moment. "When are you planning on going to school? I know you mentioned it one evening, but I was wondering if you had made your choice on when to return?"

"Oh, well, no I haven't decided. I really like it here, and am not entirely sure how well I would do at a big university like Brown." At this point we had begun walking out of the tack room after I put away the burn ointment. We made it out of the barn and halfway to the house before I broke the silence. "Why?"

He pulled a face before answering, one that seemed as if he were trying to think of why he had asked himself. "Of course you need your education, Miss Reye. But I just don't see how you could possibly leave here without-" He stopped as we both heard the cars before we saw them. Two shiny black sedans, unusual for this area, were just pulling up to the house. When the ignition was turned off, all four doors opened on both, and out came a variety of people, old and young, men and women. It wasn't until a man went around to hand out the passenger in one car that I realized who they were. A classically beautiful woman, which I could tell even from this distance, stepped out of the car gracefully and turned to smile brilliantly in our direction.

"Hello, Edward," she called as we approached.

"Miss. Gramin," he said, his pace quickening to meet them. "You look beautiful, as usual. Here, let me help with that." He took the suitcase that had been placed near her when he reached them. Quietly, I slipped away from the group, skirting around them to the back of the house before anyone noticed me.


	7. Chapter 7

Mrs. Fairly greeted me as I stepped inside the side door with a prompt question about the Gramins.

"Yes, they're here, Mrs. Fairly," I said, smiling at her eagerness. "They just pulled up, Mr. Rowe is helping with their luggage."

"Excellent," she said. "I suppose he told you about little Annie Warren?" I nodded. "Her mother really was a sweet girl, a bit headstrong though. I can't imagine Annie would be much different, she's only six, so she shouldn't be too headstrong as of yet." At that moment, the sound of the front door opening could be heard, and a babble of voices filled the air. "Ah, let me go greet them and show them to their rooms. I've given Annie one upstairs where she has a view of the horses' pastures. It's directly above yours, in case you hear different sounds in the night all of a sudden." I laughed lightly.

"Ok, Mrs. Fairly. I'll start making some lunch. How about some chicken alfredo?"

"That sounds lovely, thank you Jen. Just make sure you make enough for everyone. That means about four boxes of pasta and quite a bit of chicken. The hands will want some too." She left and soon I heard her cheerful voice greeting the visitors, and a few voices responding. I set water in a huge pot to boiling, and broke four boxes of pasta into it. While it was boiling I began to heat up a pot of the cheesy Alfredo sauce and to pan fry some chicken. When I had sliced the chicken and mixed everything in the pasta, I left the kitchen and caught Mrs. Fairly's eye. She announced that lunch was in the kitchen, and as the crowd got up and prepared to come get some I set out bowls and silverware.

"It smells delicious, Mrs. Fairly," came a musical voice as the door opened. I placed a pair of tongs in the pasta and looked up to see a crowd of people being led in by the beautiful blond I had seen earlier, but Mr. Rowe was absent among them. I smiled at them and stepped aside, allowing the lady to pick up a bowl first.

"Well thank you, dear, but Miss Jen here should take the credit, she cooked it all." I smiled, and the woman, who I could only assume was Brittany Gramin looked at me, and with an almost audible sniff turned her face away after once-overing me. My smile fell, and I looked down, my face hot, even though several had turned to smile at me. I turned to the cabinets and pulled down handfuls of glasses, setting them on the counter next to the silverware.

Once everyone had taken their share of pasta, I put a little into a smaller bowl and ate it standing in the kitchen. Babbling voices came from the dining room, and quite suddenly Mr. Rowe came through the other door, opposite from where the crowd had disappeared.

"Is that pasta and alfredo I smell?" he asked to the air.

"Yes, with some chicken," I said back, swallowing my mouthful. He turned towards me and smiled, piling some into his bowl.

"My favorite, Jen, thank you." I mumbled a you're welcome, and proceeded to take another bite. To my surprise, he did not immediately leave, instead he turned and leaned against a counter. "Annie is waiting for you outside," he said after taking a bite of my pasta. "She went out with John to look at the horses. A flighty little child, with little care for much. She grew up spoilt and pampered, getting anything she wanted. Even with little money. You'll have your work cut out with that one."

"I'm looking forward to it," I said with a smile. "I babysat a little girl across the street almost every day, she was about the same age as Annie, I think."

"Well, I'm glad you're looking forward to it." We ate in silence for a few minutes, and I could feel him scrutinizing me as I ate my pasta. "I meant to ask earlier, what exactly happened to make you leave school and come here?" The silence following his question was almost tangible. I felt adrenaline rush to my legs, making them wobbly and almost instantly my vision clouded. Before I could find an answer, however, Brittany's high, musical voice could be heard from the next room.

"Where in the world has Mr. Rowe gone?" we heard. "He seems to have abandoned us again."

"Um, perhaps you should go reappear to Ms. Gramin," I said, refusing to meet his eyes. He didn't answer for a few moments.

"Yes, I suppose I should. You should go and meet Annie, when you're done eating of course." I nodded, and he left through the door. Voices were raised in greeting when he passed through the door, and again I was left alone. I finished my food, then went outside.

The day was gloomy, the sky was overcast but there was no threat of rain. As Mr. Rowe had said, I found John in the stables with a little girl sitting on the door of a stall. She was facing the side, but even though I could only see half of her face, I knew she was already turning into a beauty. She had short, curly blonde hair, and perfectly flawless pale skin. Her eyes, or at least the one I could see from this angle, were large and blue. I saw absolutely nothing of Mr. Rowe in her, not a single trait that could pass her as a Rowe. But the allegations made by the woman were accepted, and I found myself accepting the six year old as his niece. John heard my footsteps first, and turned to see me approaching.

"Ah," he said. "Here's the young lady I was telling you about. The one who's going to be mean to you and make you learn things." I laughed and lightly slapped his arm.

"I will not be mean and you are going to completely terrify her." I turned to her and smiled. "Hi, you must be Annie." Her eyes had grown wide and she looked at me with a mixture of curiosity and timidity. She tentatively smiled, and then pointed back to the stall.

"She's pretty," she said simply, then returned her attention to the horse. I turned and saw that they were assessing Sprite, and I smiled.

"Yes, she's very pretty. Do you know her name?" She shook her head without turning to me. "She's called Sprite, and she's the horse I ride. Would you like to ride her with me?" For a moment I though the child would refuse, but after a moment's hesitation, she nodded eagerly. I smiled and turned to John. "There's some pasta on the stove, tell anyone else who wants some that there is plenty for everyone."

"Thanks, new girl," he said with a light punch. I punched his arm harder than he did, and, smiling and rubbing his arm, he left the barn.

"Alright Annie, want to help me get her saddled up?" The little girl nodded again. I picked her up off the stall door and placed her on the ground. "Here, come with me." I offered her my hand and she took it almost instantly. I led her to the tack room, and gave her my bridle. "Be careful, sweet heart. Don't let it drag on the floor." She held it over her head with a smile, and I led her back out, hauling the saddle and reins. We saddled Sprite, and I let her buckle the bridle and hook the reins onto it. I hoisted her onto the horse, then mounted behind her, careful to keep her balanced. We rode out to the hills and back, never going faster than a light trot. The whole ride she had a huge grin on her face and she laughed several times, but she never asked a single question. In fact, instead of the single bit of praise for Sprite and the occasional laugh I had heard none of her voice.

When I decided Sprite had had enough, about forty-five minutes later, we rode back and I unsaddled her and let her out to the pastures to cool down. I lifted Annie onto the fence and stood next to her watching the horses graze and doze.

"They're very pretty, aren't they?" I asked her after a moment of silence. She nodded and looked at me sideways.

"You're pretty too," she said quietly.

"Well, thank you, darling," I replied, even though I thoroughly disagreed about my plain features and common brown hair. "Why don't you tell me a little about yourself." She looked up a me for a minute, assessing me again. Then she simply said,

"I don't have a mom anymore. She left me somewhere. Mr. Rowe was nice and is letting me stay here. I like to read."

"And how old are you?"

"I'm six. My birthday is in two months, I'll be turning seven."

"Well, my name is Jen, and I'm supposed to be the one to teach you how to read better and how to do math and what science is. But I promise we'll have a fun time." She smiled again, still not taking her eyes off of Sprite.

"I'm already having a fun time," she said. "I like Sprite very much."

"Me too. How about we take care of her every day together, just you and me? That would be fun." She nodded again, this time looking up at me. Thunder rolled far in the distance, faintly rumbling it's way across the hills. "Come on, how about we go inside and unpack your things, and then we can get dressed for dinner." She nodded, but looked back at Sprite for a minute, then clamored down from the fence and took my hand in hers.

Back in the house, we climbed upstairs and I led her to room. She pulled out two suitcases and a backpack from a corner and placed them in front of me. "I don't have much," she said, then plopped down on the floor next to them.

"That's ok, I don't have much either." I opened one of the suitcases and found three neatly stacked piles of clothing. I took them out of the suitcase and began sorting them into underwear, t-shirts, shorts, skirts, pants, and dresses, and did the same with the other suitcase. I told her to decide where she wanted her clothes to go, and to sort them into the drawers of her dresser or hang them in her closet. She did so methodically, neatly stacking the folded articles of clothing in one drawer after the other.

When it was time for dinner, I asked Annie to change into something a little nicer than the jeans and t-shirt she had on, figuring if we had to dress nicely she probably did too. It wasn't until we had already made it downstairs at the normal time that I was informed that the party and Mr. Rowe had already sat down to dinner, and the rest of us were back to eating buffet style and wherever we could find a seat. I found myself surprisingly relieved about this, after the tense moment in the kitchen, and it took little time to become reacquainted with the habits I had formed before Mr. Rowe came again. I introduced Annie to those who hadn't met her, and John was attentive to the shy little girl, continuing their conversation from earlier in the afternoon.

We had finished eating, and were listening, enraptured, as Tim, the kind man who had picked me up from the airport when I first arrived, told Annie about the first time he went on an overnight trip to try and round up some of the wild horses that live on the mountain. He was just reaching the middle when the front door opened and Mrs. Fairly called out Annie and my name. "Finish telling us some other time, Tim," I said as the little girl and I went inside to the warm house.

"Mr. Rowe has again requested you and Annie's presence in the evenings," said Mrs. Fairly, already walking towards the sitting room.

"Me?" I said, not yet following her. "What could he possibly want with me this time?"

"I don't know, dear," she replied. "But he was quite insistent, even when Ms. Gramin asked as well." For many people, the fact that Brittany Gramin had questioned why they were wanted would have strengthened their resolve to go, but the knowledge instead made me feel slightly queasy as I thought of spending an entire evening being snubbed by her. Nevertheless, I followed Mrs. Fairly, gently tugging on Annie's arm to the sitting room once more.

The room was quite full when Mrs. Fairly entered with us following closely behind. The footstool I had previously typically sat on now had another occupant, and so Annie and I made our way quietly to a window seat on the opposite side of the room. It was from here that I was finally able to look at the guests Mr. Rowe was now entertaining.

There were altogether five women and three men in the Gramin party. Mrs. Gramin was Brittany's mother, and apparently had no other children in attendance of Mr. Rowe's party, making Mrs. Fairly's account from a few weeks ago inaccurate. She was married to Mr. Gramin, who was now situated on a sofa in the corner, reading a book. Mrs. Gramin's sister, Meybel, was there, and she was married with two twin daughters and a son two or three years older than myself. In addition to the Gramins there were two other men and a woman, who were scattered throughout the room conversing in small parties with the Gramins. I had yet to learn many of the names.

It was then, after I had placed each person in the correct family and briefly outlined them for Annie that Brittany and her mom revealed what they were planning-a game of Apples to Apples, apparently something often played when Mr. Rowe gave house parties. The game consists of two colored cards, red and green. The red cards have an adjective on them, like Joyous or Humble. Each player has a turn to pick a red card, and the others must choose a green card with a noun on it to match. The person who picked the red card then picks the best green card, and the person whose card is chosen receives the red card. Annie had clearly played this before, she noticeably perked when the game was mentioned, but there was no effort to include the humble occupants of the window seat, although the members of the party were almost forced to play.

"Perhaps she and the child would like to join us?" came the pretty voice of one of the twins. Mr. Rowe then looked at us, catching my eye for the first time since lunch. One of the two men not related to the Gramins was about to agree, or so I gathered from his nod and smile as he began to speak, but he was cut short by Brittany's mocking voice.

"I highly doubt that," she said falsely "attempting" to lower her voice to the crowd gathered around her, and with an acid smile in my direction. "The game is clearly over the child's head, and what could an non-college educated worker have to contribute to a game such as this." And, raising her voice, "Perhaps they would like to watch instead." I glanced down to Annie, who I believe had been enchanted by the beautiful Brittany earlier, and with these words saw her perked attitude wilt. Again her hand sneaked into mine.

I waited for the game to get into full swing before I stood and led Annie out of the room. We made it to the staircase at the end of the hall before I heard a "Wait," called from behind. I sent her upstairs and told her I'd be following her in a moment, and then turned to see Mr. Rowe striding down the hall. "Why did you leave?" he asked.

"Well, clearly neither Annie or I am fit for a game of such high intellectual, and as it is late for a child, I think it is a good time to send her to bed and get an early night myself," I said.

"So you wouldn't want to see me get absolutely throttled at this game then?"

"No, I really wouldn't. And just for the record, Apples to Apples is not a game that requires any particular college level knowledge." He winced and looked down for a split second, then back at me.

"Well, tomorrow I expect you and Annie to join us again in the sitting room, and to stay. For tonight I will let you go to sleep." Unthinking, he reached up and brushed some hair from my face. I scowled, still reeling from Brittany's comment, and now from his commands.

"Goodnight," I said, turning to climb the stairs to Annie's room.

"Goodnight." When I turned at the landing, he was already striding to the sitting room


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Alrighty, the first new chapter in a long time. Hope you like it, the next one will be out shortly.**

Two weeks soon passed, and life at Thornfield began to fall into a slightly new pattern. I woke up at my usual pre-dawn time and got dressed and ready for the day. I fixed something quick to eat in the company of Mrs. Fairly and occasionally Mr. Rowe, and then headed out to the barn to do my chores in Sprite's stall. Afterwards, around nine, I went back to the house to wake up Annie, and by the time I had her up and dressed the house was stirring with the guests. I fixed her breakfast, and then brought Annie to a room set out just for us to continue teaching her just the basics, so she could be well prepared for pre-school at the start of the next school year. From there we had lunch, and spent the rest of the afternoons outside on the farm.

On a Thursday morning, just as I was retreating to Annie's room to wake her up, I was stopped by Mr. Rowe, who was sitting at the kitchen table reading a newspaper and sipping on a cup of coffee.

"Ms. Reye, could you spare a minute or two?" He gestured to the chair next to his.

"Oh, sure Mr. Rowe, what's up?" I responded, pulling the chair out a little and sitting on the edge of it.

"Not much," he replied, with a smile at the teenager quality of my question. "I was just thinking the other night, while we were in the parlor with the Gramins, about how little I know of your past." I laughed a little nervously.

"Well, there's really not too much to it," I said, skirting the instantaneously uncomfortable topic.

"Right, right. Well then, I suppose you should go wake up Annie then, you usually would have had her dressed and ready by now." Recognizing a dismissal when I received one, I stood, said goodbye, and went to the stairs, wondering how even though he was rarely present when Annie and I came downstairs he knew our habits. I was thinking these thoughts as a telephone rang somewhere in the distance, climbing the stairs. I heard Mr. Rowe answering just as I hit the second floor and turned down the hall to Annie's room.

The little girl was sleeping soundly, one arm above her head, her strawberry blonde curls splayed out on the pillow around her head. I took a minute to observe her, as I did every morning, trying to find any hint that she could be related to Mr. Rowe, but the defining features of his face, which Mrs. Fairly had claimed were common Rowe features, were completely absent in the little girl. I was about to sit on the edge of the bed to gently shake the child out of her sleep, when I heard my name called out from below, muffled by the wood and ceiling separating Mr. Rowe and myself. Figuring Annie could sleep unbothered for two more minutes, I retreated from the room and retraced my steps downstairs, finding Mr. Rowe on the kitchen phone, impatiently waiting for my appearance.

"You have a call, Jen," he said simply, handing me the phone and walking back to his seat at the table. I took it, completely confused, and held it to my ear.

"Hello?"

"Yes, is this a Miss Jenifer Nicole Reye?" said an older gentleman's voice.

"Yes, this is she, may I help you?"

"Ms. Reye, this is John Trusswell, of Trusswell, Trusswell and Morgan, the law firm in Miami, Florida. I do not know if you recall my visit with your aunt, but I am her lawyer."

"Yes, Mr. Trusswell I do remember you, how are you?"

"I am doing well, thank you. It is your aunt I am making this call about. Two weeks ago she suffered a massive stroke following the news of her son, your cousin George's, death. She has been in the hospital since, and the doctors are very grim about her survival. They have given her a window of five to ten days, accounting for her already weakened state of mind."

"I am incredibly sorry to hear that, Mr. Trusswell. I wasn't particularly close with my aunt, but she if one of my few living relatives. But I am not certain what this has to do with me." I was twirling the phone cord around my finger, painfully aware of Mr. Rowe's presence in the room.

"Well, she asks for your presence, has been asking for days actually. The daughters couldn't make out what she wanted, but when they figured it out for some unknown reason then came to me to ask you to go back there." I was shocked that I was even being requested to go back, and less than pleasant memories began to flood my mind as I thought of her house by the beach.

"Oh, ok. Well I really don't have anyway to get there, Mr. Trusswell," I said, seeing a potential loophole.

"The daughters and I have taken the liberty to secure you a plane ticket to Miami for this coming Saturday. We believed that gave you sufficient time to inform your acquaintances and secure a leave of absence."

"That's very… thorough of you Mr. Trusswell. I will have to talk to my employers and get back to you though."

"Yes, of course dear," he replied. He rattled off his personal office's number once I had found a pen, and then said his goodbyes. I had turned my back to the bulk of the kitchen when the conversation had begun, leaning forward against the counter and looking out the little window above the sink for most of the time. _Deep breath_, I though to myself, then turned to face Mr. Rowe, still using the counter for support, who was looking at me from over the top of is paper.

"Is everything ok?"

"My aunt, in Miami, she had a stroke, and is asking for me to be there."

"Was she particularly close with you?" he asked, folding his paper and placing it on the table. I shook my head, then turned my face away from him.

"I lived with her for two years. Couldn't stand it."

"Why?" I had been bracing myself for the question, and had hope to find a way out of it.

"Why did I live with her or why didn't I like it?" I asked the corner where the counter and floor met that I had focused on.

"Both." Memories rushed me, more than had previously. I closed my eyes to try to contain them, but tears seeped through my eyelids, and in seconds I heard his heavy footsteps and felt his strong arms wrap around me, pulling me to his chest, just holding me for a moment. He half walked and half dragged me over to the table, sat me down in the chair he had occupied, then pulled another exceptionally close to mine. At that moment Mrs. Fairly walked in, holding something she meant to wash.

"Mrs. Fairly, please excuse us, and do not allow anyone in the room." She didn't argue, just simply nodded and left. He came back and sat across from me, taking my hand. "You don't have to tell me."

But I shook my head, and opened my mouth.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: I changed up the main char's history by a lot, just to make it a little more time-period appropriate. Hope the terrible aunt is Aunt Reid enough =]**

It was November, two years ago. I had just turned sixteen, and had received my driver's license. Since I was so excited, my dad let me take his car to my dance class. It was a Thursday, which meant that my ballet class ran the latest and was the last to be done. It was raining when class was over, so when I got home the ground was saturated and the top of my head and jacket were wet. I noticed, but it didn't strike me as odd that all the lights in the house were off when I pulled into the driveway. I unlocked the door, walked in, closed it, and called out for my mom and dad. Then I was grabbed from behind and someone put something over my mouth and I passed out.

When I woke up I was tied to my bed, one limb to each corner, and it was 2 AM according to my clock. I screamed, called for my mom and dad, for help, for anything. Someone came in my room, but all the lights were off everywhere, so I didn't see his face. He walked over, touched my face, almost gently. He was wearing leather gloves then, but later he got careless and took them off. He took my hair out of the bun I had it in for ballet, and found my brush and began to brush it out around my shoulders.

He produced a pair of scissors from somewhere, and carefully cut off everything I was wearing, and it's not hard to imagine where it went from there. I cried and pleaded with him not to, but he didn't stop, instead he tried to comfort me, insisting it would be alright. That first night he left and came back three times before I got more than one hour of sleep. He untied me after he pushed my heavy dresser and my bookcase in front of my window, and jammed my door with another heavy piece of furniture.

Three days I was trapped in my room. He brought me water and bread when he was in a good mood. When he wasn't I was in pain all over. It took three days for someone to notice my mom, dad, and I's complete absence from the world. When the police came he tried to use me as a hostage, held a knife to my neck. I still have the scar. But they shot him and prosecuted him. My mom and dad were found murdered in their closet, they had been there since the first night. I was never told how he knew me, only that I was the primary target. He was sentenced to four life sentences, no chances of parol, and I have never found out why he did it.

I tried to stay in my hometown, but at sixteen I couldn't live alone, and although a good friend of mine's family tried to take me in, my aunt's decision to take me overruled theirs. And so I moved to Miami after finishing the semester. My Aunt Hilary was at one point my favorite aunt, but when her two daughters grew up to be "prettier, more talented, smarter", she quickly lost interest in anyone else, including her husband, who had died a year before I moved there.

Aunt Hilary treated me poorly from the moment I walked into her house. She had me clean anytime I wasn't able to prove I was doing schoolwork, she forced me to be home no more that two hours after school, and refused to let me get a job or take a dance class, even just one at school. I was given the basement as a room, and never ate with the family. I think she blamed me a little bit for my mom-her sister's-death, because it was determined by a criminal psychologist that he wasn't insane, just obsessed with me.

So I threw myself into my schoolwork. My cousins, Gemma and Briana, made sure to keep any potential friends away from me, stooping so low to talking to this one really sweet girl who they always poked fun at to distract her from me. I made near perfect grades, and graduated fourth in my class of three hundred, and was admitted to Brown University and Northeastern, better than either Gemma or Briana got.

I only lived with my other cousin, George, for a few months. He was absolutely and disgustingly favored, he got everything and was always being pampered, simply for being a boy. While Gemma is my age and Briana only a year younger, George was four years older than me, and still living at home when I arrived, though he soon moved to New York City. He was just cruel to me, making terrible references to what had happened, besmirching my mom and dad, just being generally terrible. He killed a squirrel one day with a BB gun and put the body in my room. But apparently he met his end in New York, the lawyer just told me my aunt suffered a stroke after his death.

In the weeks leading up to graduation I began to look at my options. Both universities had offered me enough scholarship to cover tuition and fees, but not housing or books. I established with Brown the deal that if I sat for a standardized test again after a year off I would be able to keep my admissions and scholarship after I fully explained the situation to an admissions officer. So that's when I began looking for places to go. Through a miracle I remembered Mrs. Fairly from when she and her family visited mine for Christmas years ago. I contacted her, asking for any kind of work. After I turned eighteen my aunt had no legal right to keep me with her, though she tried desperately to do just that. She even went through some legal process trying to prove I wasn't in the right state of mind to be on my own. I think she just enjoyed the power trip, and with only Briana left to bully when Gemma went to college, she wanted me to stay.

But Mrs. Fairly offered me a spot here, and so I took it. The phone call just now was to inform me about my aunt's stroke and her lawyer told me that she has been asking for me and it has already been arranged that I go back to see her. All I need now is for you to let me go, just for a week or two.


	10. Chapter 10

_Author's Note: So sorry for the extra long wait. I tend to get distracted and lost track of time. Hope you enjoy the chapter, the next will be up soon.

* * *

_

I finished my story, staring down at my hands resting in my lap. Throughout my tale I hadn't looked up, not wishing to see the judgment filling his eyes. I had, of course, gotten used to it. Word got around school after I moved to Miami that I wasn't a virgin, and while technically true, in the grossest form of the label, I hated the judgmental stares and hurried glances from my classmates. If there was one person I really didn't want to see it in, it was Mr. Rowe. But I felt a finger under my chin a few silent moments later, lifting it so my eyes met his. He had leaned forward and his face was mere inches from mine, and for a few moments, during which I'm sure he could hear my heart thumping madly against my ribcage, we silently stared at each other. Until then I had held composure, but seeing the flurry of emotion in his eyes, curiously excluding judgment, shook me and I felt threatening pricks at the back of my own.

"I wish you didn't have to go," he said. "But I understand." His hand left my chin, and sighing, he stood up. "You'll be given these past five months' wages, which should keep you satisfied during your travels. When do you leave?"

"The lawyer informed me that a ticket was bought for tomorrow, but I could switch it at their cost if I have to. But please, Mr. Rowe. I don't need my salary, I have a little bit of money saved up, I can use that."

"No, no, eventually you would be paid anyways. I'll have a check ready for you by tomorrow morning, then, if you are to leave then."

"Are you sure you won't be needing me?" I couldn't hide my surprise and slight disappointment when it was implied I would leave so soon.

"Well yes, the sooner you leave, the sooner you can come back home." _Home_, I liked the way that sounded and felt. "Two weeks maximum, you said?"

"That is what he said."

"Well then, what time will you be leaving? John will need to know in order to take you to the airport."

"The flight they already booked leaves at 2:35, so I should be there at about one o'clock."

"Fair enough, I'll let John know and let you go pack a bag." With a short nod, he paced out of the room.

Left alone in the kitchen, I watched the doorway he had left through for a moment before turning the opposite way and heading down the hall to my room. I dragged out the smaller of my two suitcases and slowly, methodically began packing, letting the news begin to slowly sink in.

Momentarily I panicked, surrounded by bustling people pushing and shoving their ways past me. I stood stock still in the middle of Miami International Airport, eyeing the unconventional mixture of people, typical for an airport. So much light streamed in from the almost all-over windows that my eyes began to water, as used to the soft light cast by generally overcast skies as they were. I looked up for any sort of information, then found it in a rather large sign hanging from the ceiling reading "Baggage Claim and Exit" in several languages. I turned and wheeled my luggage behind me, shifting my purse on my shoulder and fingering the cell phone I had all but cancelled since I left from this very airport, waiting to decide who to call.

When I made it to the baggage claim area, where silver belts paraded the unclaimed baggage being spewed from a dark hole in the wall, I let my eyes wander over the crowds, highly doubting anyone I knew would be waiting. I was already turning towards where another sign was directing lost people to a taxi stand when I heard my name called over the din of the crowd. Confused, I turned towards the source of the sound, scanning the sea of color and chatter for the caller.

"Jen!" Again my name was called, and this time my gaze landed on a petite, but familiar, form, wearing a coral button up and white pants. The housekeeper of my previous residence was heading towards me, cropped blonde waves and deep, aging brown eyes exactly as I remembered.

"Betty!" I said, a grin spreading across my face as I strode towards her.

"Oh Miss Jen, just look at you." The woman and I finally met and embraced each other, smiling. "My, you have gotten quite fit, Miss Jen, and tan too." I laughed.

"Thank you, Betty. I would say the same for you, but you've always been tan and fit." Another laugh, joined by Betty's. "You were sent to fetch me then?"

"Yes, dear. I actually offered, it's nice to be out of the house, and to collect you no less! Do you have any checked bags?"

"No, I've only come with this," I gestured to my rolling carry-on. "I figured there was no need to bring too much, there's a washing machine after all."

"Very handy of you, I guess we don't have to wait then, off to the car we go. So tell me," she continued after turning towards the exit. "What have you been keeping yourself busy with? Where have you run off to?"

"You know where, Betty," I replied, elbowing her. "I told you precisely where I was going, and precisely what I'd be doing."

"Oh right, working on a ranch, I thought I smelt horses." She winked and we laughed, exiting through sliding glass doors into the sun and humidity. "Gosh, even in the Spring the humidity is as heavy as ever."

"Don't you know it dear. So tell me what else has been happening with you, I miss having some good gossip."

I realized how much I missed Betty's company as we headed towards the house, chatting about the recent past, and briefly discussing Aunt Hilary's condition, as well as Gemma and Briana's activities. She deftly maneuvered her car down various shop-lined streets, turning through familiar territory as I let memories float through my thoughts.

We reached the house after encountering the usual traffic, and in short time I had been established in a small guest room, far nicer and warmer than my old basement bedroom, with a view of the backyard. With very little to unpack, I soon found myself roaming the house for Betty, pushing the images of the past from my mind. In the kitchen I found her, munching on finger food and flipping through a magazine.

"Jen, here have something to eat," she pushed the bowl towards me and gestured to the bar stool next to hers, and I gratefully took it. "Your aunt will be wanting to speak with you as soon as possible, we gather there's really not much time left for her," she said, looking up from her magazine. I subconsciously popped a handful of Chex Mix in my mouth and nodded, wishing there was any way to put it off, but there was none, as I was already trapped here.

"I'll go to her now," I said, picking out another handful and chewing it silently.

"Will you be okay?" Betty asked, tentatively touching my arm.

"I will," I nodded, swallowing my mouthful and pushing my chair back.

"She's in the master bedroom, if she's asleep you can always try again." I just nodded and turned on my heels to meet my aunt.

Her room looked precisely as I remembered, crisp white carpet without even a spot, grand furniture and bold colors. The only difference was my actual aunt, lying in bed, with the covers tucked around her and her hands deftly crossed on her stomach. Her eyes were closed, but at the sound of the door I saw the eyebrows raise slightly, so I stepped to her bed and sat in a hard-backed chair placed close to the edge.

"So you've come," she said hoarsely, not opening your eyes.

"Yes, Aunt Hilary, I have."

"I half expected you to laugh when Mr. Trusswell asked. Betty did when I told her you were coming. She was very surprised when I told her it was true. Why did you come?"

"You asked me to, Aunt Hilary. You just said so yourself."

"Yes, yes I did. I had a stroke," she opened her eyes but was staring at the ceiling, refusing to look at me. "I had a stroke because George died and I was so surprised hearing of it." I couldn't help but snort quietly, I had simply been waiting for the day to come. It was then that she looked at me, her gaze sharply turning and her eyes narrowing at me. "Yes, yes you were always a heartless little tramp. Getting my sister killed and our family put in the newspapers as common victims, without even a note of who we are." Taken aback, my eyes widened and then my brows furrowed. I had wanted very little press, as little as possible, to cover the incident. I felt that it was nobody's business but ours. Voicing this, my aunt simply glared harder, but had no response. She lapsed into a coughing fit, which brought a woman from outside the door to administer some sort of syrup and lay my aunt down gently. Her eyes were closed and breathing steady when the nurse left.

"Aunt Hilary, I forgive you, truly I do, for all the terrible things you did to me. For locking me in the basement, for making me equivalent to a maid, for turning the other cheek when George harassed me, and for surely being behind my lack of friends and social life. I forgive you." She was awake during this, I noticed her facial expressions change just slightly when I mentioned each thing I had once held against her. But when she did not respond, or make an effort to let me know she heard, I stood and turned to the door. Just before I reached it, her hoarse voice barely carried across the room.

"On my vanity, in the jewelry box's bottom drawer. A letter is addressed to you. Take it, and be gone from my conscious." I turned to look at her, but aside from her mouth moving nothing changed. I went to where she directed, and found a yellowing envelope with my name and this address penned in chicken-scratch only a man could achieve. I took it, and left the room.


	11. Chapter 11

I returned to the family room, looking for a way through to my room on the other end of the house. In the room I found Briana and Gemma, but neither looked up and I quietly passed through. Gemma was still the beautiful one of the family, her smooth tan skin and honey blonde hair complemented her deep blue eyes and skinny body. She was lying on the couch, flipping through a magazine. Briana was the brains of the family, with curly brown hair and equally tan skin, however, she was still beautiful too. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, a pencil in her hands as she tried to work something out in an advanced chemistry book. I saved interacting with them for later, and even then kept it to a minimum.

Two and a half weeks later Aunt Hilary died. We brought her to the hospital the day after I arrived following a complaint of violent pain and a long coughing fit nothing could ease. There a CT scan showed fatal damage, and the neurologist told us to prepare ourselves. At her request, we brought her home, made her as comfortable as we could, and waited. Throughout the whole process, she said nothing to me after our initial reunion. Betty took me to a boutique-like shop close to their home, which, she told me, Briana frequented and had told her would be a good place to buy a black dress.

The funeral was four days after her death, and I had to call Mrs. Fairly to explain the circumstances and let them know that although I was already a week late, a ticket for right after the funeral had been bought, and I would arrive later that night.

In my lush guest room I slipped into the dress we had settled on; a double layered, full silk skirt topped a simple silk bodice. A scoop neck flowed to my shoulders, ending in a thin strap, and the back plunged into a V to just below my shoulder blades. To finish it off Gemma lent me a long silver chain with a cluster of uncut light blue stones at the end. When I began to prepare my things to curl my hair and put it up, I caught a glimpse of the yellowing envelope out of the corner of my eye. Putting down my brush, I tentatively reached out, and picked it up. After examining the return address, which offered little insight to the sender, and the postmark, which was dated just after I had moved here, I turned the envelope over and lifted the previously opened flap.

Dear Ms. Jennifer Reye;

I wish with all my heart we had been able to meet under much happier circumstances, and it is with a heavy heart I offer my condolences for the loss of your father and mother. I am sure you are asking yourself who this man is, a complete stranger, to offer such sympathy. I will explain to you now why you have never met your uncle, as that is who I am. My name is Jeffrey Davidson, and I am your mother's eldest sister's husband.

Three years prior to your birth, your father and mother and your aunt, Riley Hart, and I got into an argument pertaining to the inheritance split between your mother and aunt from their grandmother. My late wife insisted your great grandmother bequeathed a valuable piece of diamond and emerald jewelry to her, but the bequest was to be found nowhere in her will, and she had left all her valuable jewelry to your mother. This left my wife with the land, your mother with the valuables, and your Aunt Hilary with her other assets, and her fortune was split between the three.

Riley and my two sons died two weeks before you were born, as she was preparing to drive to your mother and father's house to be with her and mend things. I was left with no family, and although your parents and your other aunt and uncle attempted to reach out to me, I selfishly disconnected myself from them, and would neither ask for nor accept any assistance or contact. I moved to Pennsylvania, away from anyone, to be alone in my misery, and I now reside in the suburbs of Philadelphia. Though I know to expect little or nothing, as you had no idea I existed, I would like to extend to you an offer of help and to let you know my doors are always open and the wish that you and I can get to know each other and be family.

Below is my phone number, email address, and home address, if you should ever wish or need to contact me, please do not hesitate. Again, I offer my condolences on your loss.

Sincerely,

Jeffrey Davidson

Twice I reread the letter, going over and over the details. I knew the piece of jewelry he mentioned, my mother kept it in a jewelry box in her dresser drawer. Once I found it as a little girl and was playing with it when she saw me and snatched it up, shooed me out of the room and locked herself in it. I also knew my mom had inherited her grandmother's jewelry, but that she had sold most of it because she had never worn them. That piece was now in a safety deposit box in a bank my lawyer had set up just after the deaths with the other items I did not sell or keep with me.

I wondered briefly why my aunt had never let me read it, I certainly would have contacted him and possibly had someplace else to go. But then I remembered how she liked to boss me and the power high she had for having me to command. Silently I folded the letter and put it back into its envelope, tucked it safely between the folds of my packed clothes, and proceeded to curl my long auburn hair and pin it up off my shoulders.

* * *

The service had ended, and I was outside the church, breaking away from a group of well-wishers who were trying to ensure me my aunt had been a lovely lady and was in a better place. I smiled graciously and backed away, leaving the gaggle of ladies to move on to Briana and Gemma. I found Betty who was hovering around the background, thanking the guests. Nodding, she thanked the last couple by her and broke away from the stream to come over to me.

"Are you ready, dear?" she asked.

"Yes, I don't want to be too late, I know how busy Miami airport can be."

"And you'll change at the airport?" I nodded, and so we began to head over to the car, when a furious scream rent through the air. Guests' heads turned and Betty and I turned towards the source at the same time. Briana was dragging a struggling Gemma around the corner of the chapel, and they were being followed by a sheepish looking man. Betty and I exchanged glances, and for a moment I was going to shrug and continue to the car but heated yelling could be heard, so both Betty and I followed the girls.

"How could you?" cried Briana, as we rounded the corner of the church. "On the day of our mother's funeral, I find you and this man behind a tree? At a _church_?"

"Bri, you're over reacting," countered Gemma, crossing her arms and looking defiantly at her little sister.

"Gem, she's dead, and you go off to fool around with some guy?"

"He's not just some guy, Briana, we're moving in together, as soon as possible at the rate you're driving me mad."

"Moving in?" cried Briana.

"Yes, I am. I'm eighteen and in college, I can do as I please."

"You are absolutely the most selfish piece of humanity I have ever laid my eyes on. When did you even meet this guy? And where?"

"That is none of your business," Gemma said defiantly.

"Fine Gem, I'm washing my hands of you. As soon as all the legal things are done you and I are through being related."

"Fine," spat back Gemma, who finally caught a glimpse of Betty and I. "Oh shove off, no one asked for your company," she said to me, as tears began to roll down her cheeks. Grabbing her mystery man's arm, she turned and stormed away, getting into a car with him and leaving.

"Briana," began Betty, but she was cut off.

"No, Betty, she's been needing to hear that for a long time. One day maybe we'll speak again, but I don't want her in my life for now." I thought back to the letter, and it saddened me to think that maybe my mom and aunt thought that same thing. "Go to the airport, Jen, you'll miss your flight." She walked towards me, heading past my shoulder and back to the churchyard, but stopped when she was close to me. "I am glad to see you're doing okay for yourself," she said gently, then continued away.

Slightly startled by the break in attitude, I stood in my spot for a moment before looking at Betty, who was looking at me. I shrugged, and Betty, shaking her head, made her way to the car.

* * *

It was dark when the plane hit the tarmac and I grudgingly slipped my feet back into my black heels. Because of the little row, and unexpected traffic, by the time we made it to the airport I had only time to check my (now much larger, as I had packed some of the clothes I left behind the first time) suitcase and dash through security. Planning on changing when I was safely waiting to board, I realized I had left the pants, shirt, and shoes I had set aside in the car, as I didn't want to have them in my purse for the service. Kicking myself mentally, I sat through the plane ride in my nice dress and shoes, only able to unpin my hair and let it fall back down around my shoulders in curls.

I had planned out that once I got off the plane I would head straight for baggage and change before anyone could pick me up or see me in such different clothing, but to my slight horror and slight appeal, as soon as I walked out the gate I saw Mr. Rowe, with his arms crossed and standing off a little bit away from the small crowd. Smiling, I headed towards him, but when he made eye contact and did not acknowledge me, I was slightly taken aback. Confused, I continued to walk towards him, never wobbling or taking a misstep on my way. It took a second, longer, glance to assess why this person was approaching him for him to realize that I was indeed who he was waiting for. I watched as his face showed the flurry of emotions clearly, from confused to happy, back to confused and finally breaking into a smile. When I got close enough, he opened his arms and took me up in a hug. Slightly surprised, I hesitated for a moment and then hugged him back, smiling.

"It's so good to see you, Mr. Rowe," I blurted when he let me go.

"You told me two weeks, at the maximum. It has almost been a month," he said in greeting, his face turning slightly mocking.

"I know, I know," I replied, shifting my purse on my shoulder and turning towards the baggage claim. We began to amble towards the belts as I told him why Betty needed help, as my two cousins were useless, cooking and caring for my aunt, though I never tended her unless she was asleep, as well as with the funeral preparations.

"You look different," he noted, gesturing to me and then lifting a curl gently. I laughed and nodded, diving into the story about Briana and Gemma's argument, the man Gemma left with, and how it made me late and I forgot my clothes and checked my bag before I realized it. By the time I had finished, we had walked out to the car and were well on our way home, the lights of the small town giving way to the inky night of the sparsely lit countryside.

We continued talking, he updated me on trivial ranch news and business, and I continued to entertain him with stories of my cousins. I couldn't tell in the darkness where on the road we were, and could only judge his facial expressions by the dull reflection of the headlights, but in less time than usual we turned off the main road and began following the dirt road towards Thornfield. We had lapsed into silence for the past few minutes, but when I shifted to get a better view out of the windshield he looked at me, and I smiled back.

"It's good to be home," I said, looking back and waiting for that first glimpse of the house. I didn't see him reach over until he grasped my hand in his, intertwining his fingers with mine, and, without looking away from the road said,

"It's good to have you back." I looked at him for a moment, and he glanced sidelong at me and smiled. I was grateful for the darkness, as I could feel my cheeks flushing, but I forgot about them when we reached the top of the hill and the house and grounds spread out below us. The windows on the first floor were all lit, as were small lamps bordering the driveway and the porch. Some of the hands were in the barn, their shadows passing along the strip of light flowing from the open doors, and a few unidentifiable people were walking towards the house, but stopped and waved when they were illuminated by the headlights.

But Mr. Rowe did not follow the driveway to the back of the house where a garage housed the cars. Instead, he turned off onto a typically unused path, leading away from the house and towards a break in the woods and the cliffs beyond.

"Where -," I began to say, but he interrupted me.

"I'd like to show you somewhere. The moon is full and bright tonight, it's the best time to see it."

"I don't think I'm really dressed for the occasion," I said, plucking at the double skirt and shaking my curled hair a bit.

"You are dressed perfectly for the occasion," he responded. I thought he squeezed my hand briefly, but I could have imagined that.


	12. Chapter 12

**This one's short but sweet. Just wrote it very quickly, so hope you enjoy =]**

* * *

A series of small, overgrown, dirt roads through woods I had never seen before later, and the headlights of the truck illuminated what appeared to be a small field surrounded by the woods, but bordered on one edge by a cliff. He turned off the ignition, and we both stepped out.

"I used to come here a lot, with my older brother," he said when he stepped beside me. "The best way to get here is by horseback, but I thought it would be too dark tonight."

"It's so beautiful here," I murmured, taking in the beautiful little field. Illuminated by the moonlight, everything was colored in various hues of blue and grey, with long black shadows extending from them. The ground was covered in soft grass and the sturdiest of wildflowers were just beginning to bloom as Spring approached. Though I couldn't tell in the night, I was sure the colors here would be fantastic on a sunny day. "What's over the cliff?" I asked.

"That's my favorite part," he said. He grabbed hold of my hand in his and began to lead me to it. With every step, though, the spiky heels on my shoes sank into the dirt, so I quickly took them off and tossed them back near the truck and continued barefoot. When we reached the cliff we were afforded a beautiful view of the same valley I could see from my window, but from another angle. A silvery river cut through the valley, providing water for the silhouetted cattle dozing next to it. Content to spend the rest of my life here, I sat down on the rocky edge of the cliff without taking my eyes from below, the cool stones rough against my skin, and watched the beautiful valley. Mr. Rowe settled beside me with just a few inches of space between us. I waited a breath, and then scooted so the space was filled and rested my head on his shoulder.

"I could stay here, in this spot, forever," I said, voicing my earlier thought.

"I used to think that too," he replied.

"We could, you know," I said, with a half laugh. "No one could ever find me, or you, or us here." The fantasy played before my mind as we lapsed into silence, listening to the night. Being lost forever somewhere, where no one could find or hurt me. Where no one _would_ find or hurt me. Paradise.

"What are you thinking?" he asked after a long silence.

"About what I said, being lost here."

"You wouldn't have to be lost, you know." His hand found mine again, and his thumb began to stroke circles on the back of my hand. "But you could stay here, forever." I hummed a sound of satisfaction. But a little thought nagged in my mind.

"But what about Brittany?" I asked, pulling away from him and sitting up when I remembered her.

"Brittany?" He said, looking at me.

"Yes, Mrs. Fairly told me about how the two of you are likely to get married, to connect your ranches. I thought you were."

"Well, I suppose that is a possibility." My heart stopped, and the happiness that had leeched into me began to drain away.

"She's beautiful," I said. He nodded. "And clever." Another nod. "And she is definitely rich," I concluded.

"That she is," he said. For a few moments he looked down, and as I observed him I could not make out what he was thinking. But suddenly, he looked up. "But, do you know what she's not?" I shook my head, unsure of where this was leading. "She's not you."

In shock, I didn't respond, and instead just stared at him, unsure of what to say or how to respond. But then I laughed a little, and broke our eye contact, looking into my lap and letting my curls curtain my face.

"Yes, she's not me, she has a family, and not a terrible past no one can handle. She has stability and knows her place in life. She's not me. I have none of that, not even a clear future." His hand reached under my chin and turned my head, forcing my eyes to his. He leaned forward a bit, and in a very soft voice, one I had not hear before, said,

"Say yes, Jen, and you can have me." He waited a breath, and as I tried to take in what he said, leaned forward, and pressed his lips against mine. For a moment I lost myself in the kiss, closing my eyes and letting my mind become overwhelmed with the emotions and bliss. And suddenly, when my mind cleared I broke away from his soft lips and looked down again.

"You don't mean that," I said, my throat beginning to choke up and my eyes swimming. "I promise that you don't really mean that."

"Jen," his hand was still under my chin and he lifted it so my eyes were looking up to his again. "There is no one, not a soul, on this planet I would rather say the words 'I love you' to rather than you, and that will always be true." I searched his eyes and expression for any doubt for a moment, but to drive his point home, he said firmly, "Jen, I love you," and brought his lips down to mine again.

"I'm not beautiful," I whispered when our lips parted for a moment. He took my face in both hands and kissed me again, then broke away and replied,

"Never say that to me. I am not handsome, but you are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." And his lips were on my, soft and gentle.

"Nor do I have any assets," I said again, but less determinedly. This time he ignored me and continued to kiss me, the soft kisses turning more heated as time went by. I felt his tongue outline my lips, and timidly I opened mine. His tongue traced just inside my lips, and gently he pulled me down to lay on the grass beside him.


End file.
